Gifted-Public-Figure Has Died at Aged-age

“Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age.”


Seldom do I swim in a sea of envy. I lie.

Envy waits patiently for me at my door each night and stands sentry till morning. It accompanies me – walking ahead on my route each day, morphing into fantastic shapes of alternate states of being. It pops out at each corner to say “I’m an option, if you’d heed it”. It draws in with play-fighting and truth-meandering; faux soul-searching.

Envy fears all things

Gnaws all things

Seethes through things

Corrupts good things – envy never mends.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died and I, I was inspired. And envious.

Not of their death, or even of their life. But of all those who are finding or have found their purpose, and are thriving in pursuit of the thing, even at 39. And then, I was envious of their mind.

But then that left no space to grow!

That left no space to ponder my own issues and grab my own weights.

It left no roads on which to be bare-back, worn down, weary, and soaking.

It left no reason for me to find a valley to fill with a sea of my pain and dive into, so I could swim to the other side and sing. All it did was encourage me to drown.

All I heard were songs at the corner with tempos of mourning, of cries to drop down, dig a hole and bury my soul. Then use all my powerful potential to water the seeds of waste and prune their poisonous vines where I had laid them.

All it showed me was waste when all I desire is grace.


Today hit’s different. Because I saw a light, just the one.

Then others quickly rose to affirm it. So I knew it was the light at the end of a tunnel and not a train hurtling towards me on the tracks.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age. And I took my envy of perceived accomplishment and I put it on the road. I shaped and carved and filigreed till I was sure it would hold. Then I set it beside my other fears and worries, anxieties, doubts, and excuses.

I set it with no spaces between the cracks as my next stepping stone.


Love III

“A man only needs one thing in life. He just needs someone to love. If you can’t give him that, then give him something to hope for. And if you can’t give him that, just give him something to do.”*

– James Liddle, Flight of the Pheonix


– But what if all a man needs is something to fight for? I guess he would need something to love first…



I spend a great deal of time on love. On feeling it, giving it, thinking about it, being it. I know, I know, no one can really BE love. But we turn out to be such vessels of love, how can we really be identified any other way? Think about it… I could use my toothbrush holder to hold my pens but someone would probably look at my desk like I was crazy. A pen has no business in a toothbrush holder! And they would be right, mostly. We can put other things in these beautiful bodies of ours but somewhere – out there – in this colossal universe, some supernatural being is probably screaming, “Wait! that doesn’t belong there! You’re putting anger/pride/hatred in the love holder, you silly potato!”. And that’s what I feel about love. Sure, we feel it and share it; find it then promptly lose it again. But it’s never really going anywhere because we carry it with us. Always. And that, in my opinion, is humanity’s most redeeming quality.

It’s a no-brainer, then, that I write about it. I write about love a lot. Sometimes I write about hopes and dreams and pain, but aren’t those things just connected to or other forms of love? So when I decided to start a blog (and I have decided this many times over the years. It was nearly a yearly renewal of vows I had not actually put into effect), what else could it really be about but love?

The name of this blog, in-threes, was simply another way of unpacking this running theme. They tell us always that good things come in threes (and according to one of my faves, Sarah Kay, so do bad things). We are told that the third time is the charm and are quick to start the countdown to a momentous celebration or a menial task by announcing, “On three! 1, 2, 3…” .

In my case, three is my favourite number. I was born on the third in the third season of the year (depending on the way you count, autumn is third because winter MUST come last), which also doubles as my favourite season of the year. I am an only child (but really the third of many) and most of those epic cliche sayings that I love so much come in monosyllabic threes. Live, laugh, love, for example. Or one of my all time faves –

“And so these three remain: Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love”

By this point, you get it. I’m a firm believer in love or the lack of it or the reactions to it; that we cannot live unaffected by it. And somehow, along the way, I decided that I wanted to share that  – my love of stories and opinions and travelling and food (ohhhh fooddddd). But most importantly, I wanted to share the love I have for myself, which is an ever-evolving thing. Because, love – even self love – cannot be kept selfishly.


“We cannot live unaffected by love. We are most alive when we find it, most devastated when we lose it, most empty when we give up on it, most inhumane when we betray it, and most passionate when we pursue it.”

Happy Readings and Bienvenue…